<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>your eyes are blocking my starlight by leighbot</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25931818">your eyes are blocking my starlight</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighbot/pseuds/leighbot'>leighbot</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Direction (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Dating, M/M, Magic Revealed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:08:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,034</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25931818</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighbot/pseuds/leighbot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>There’s a Muggle on the Tube that Harry sees every day. While he wouldn’t say he’s obsessed with this man, </i>thank you very much Nick<i>, he would maybe admit that he’s very observant of him to the point where Harry knows this is the second day in a row that the stranger has worn the same dove grey button-up shirt.</i></p><p>Or, Harry doesn't know how Muggle-Wizard relationships ever make it past the Big Confession.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Zayn Malik/Harry Styles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Potter direction : Round Three</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>your eyes are blocking my starlight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story is... not Brit-picked, not beta'd, and barely read over. The amount of effort i put into it is actually quite a bit, it just didn't happen the way i expected and trying to force it to do anything was harder than i thought it would be. if any glaring errors occur, feel free to let me know; i hope nothing is big enough to pull you from enjoying the story</p><p>Title from Fall Out Boy</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>There’s a Muggle on the Tube that Harry sees every day.</p><p>While Harry wouldn’t say he’s <em>obsessed</em> with this man, <em>thank you very much Nick</em>, he would maybe admit that he’s very observant of him to the point where he knows this is the second day in a row that the stranger has worn the same dove grey button-up shirt.</p><p>The fact that Harry knows it’s dove gray and not, say, pigeon gray is entirely Nick’s fault. He thinks pigeons and doves are the same thing, actually. He’ll have to look that one up later.</p><p>Harry bites at the corner of his lip and pretends to be engrossed in the well-worn paperback he’s read a hundred times before. He sneaks glances across the way to the dark-haired man sat in front of him. His hair is in a thick mess of what might be curls if the strands had room to take shape and he’s wearing black-rimmed glasses perched on the edge of his nose that make him look more approachable than he does on days when the only things lining his eyes are ridiculously thick lashes. Harry might think he was wearing mascara if he didn’t watch him rub at his face so often. Harry turns a page and scans the rest of the stranger’s outfit, taking in the scuffed up sneakers and too-big jeans, a backpack on the ground between his feet. His knees are together over the top of it and his hands are shoved into his coat pockets. The headphones in his ears hopefully block out the argument a woman is having with her son a few seats over.</p><p>Harry glances back to his book, eyeing a few lines like he thinks he’s going to be called out on his staring and asked to prove that he knows what he’s reading. He could quote the character’s monologue from heart so he thinks he can risk another glance.</p><p>Overall, the man’s appearance doesn’t scream <em>anything</em>, really. His overall effect is average and anyone else on the Tube who doesn’t know that he’s worn the same shirt three times in seven days would never think to question anything about him but Harry can’t seem to shake the feeling that the shirt is a mystery he should be solving. He runs through the options in his head: the man could be looking for work and this gray shirt with buttons and a pocket is the perfect ‘hire me’ look to back up his CV; the man could only own a few shirts and has just recycled this one several times recently and there isn’t a pattern, Harry’s just going mental; or this man has recently found himself a paramour and has stayed over their place the night before and thus is on a walk of shame, of sorts.</p><p>He can’t think of a fourth reason so he turns the page of his book as the next station’s name blares over the speakers. He keeps his eyes down. Reason one could work, the guy looks smart in his glasses and open black peacoat but his jeans and choice of footwear don’t lend themselves to the job-hunting argument. Reason two is ridiculous and Harry knows it as soon as he thinks about it a second longer because they’ve been riding the Tube together for months now in the evenings, sometimes in the mornings too, and Harry’s seen him in dozens of outfits, from done-up all-black looks to scruffy t-shirts and pants so ragged he looks homeless-chic.</p><p>The third option makes the most sense and Harry smiles to himself in the small victory of solving a mystery he made up all alone. He turns his page again.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A yellow button-down shirt and white fitted jeans draw Harry’s eye the next morning. He smiles into his tea. He doesn’t always see his not-obsession in the mornings but he does always enjoy the way sleep clings to his eyes and turns down the corners of his mouth gently. He has his hands around a cup of his own and Harry wants to know whether it’s coffee or tea. They’re sat a seat apart and Harry tries to focus his nose but his sense of smell is not super human and he can’t sense anything over his own chai blend in hand.</p><p>Harry shakes the morning paper he’s reading, trying to draw his attention to the print but news in London is less exciting than it’s ever been. He supposes this means he’s doing his job well as the under-under-secretary to the Minister but it does make his morning commute a bit boring.</p><p>He folds the paper in fours and sets it on the seat next to him, debating if he has enough time to grab a book from his bag before his stop. He’s reaching in through the side, too lazy to unsnap it, when a he feels a gentle tap on his arm.</p><p>Startled, he snatches his hand from his bag as if he’d been picking someone else’s pocket and had gotten caught. He looks to his left and blinks. Wow, the yellow really brings out the gold flecks in his not-obsession’s eyes.</p><p>“Sorry?” Harry says, realising he’s missed something.</p><p>“I asked if you were done with the paper,” Not-obsession repeats with a smile. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”</p><p>“Oh, no,” Harry says with a wave of his hand. He realises what he’s said when the man’s brows furrow a bit though his smile doesn’t fade. “I mean, yes, erm… no, you didn’t frighten me and yes, I’m finished with the paper. Please,” he motions for the man to take it.</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>Harry stares straight ahead for the rest of his ride and misses his stop. He does learn where Not-Obsession gets off, though.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>That evening, Harry is prepared for the ride. Unfortunately, he’s mostly alone in his car.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Nick brings over a gift the next time he Floos in and Harry grabs for it eagerly, trading Nick for a glass of his favourite white. It took Harry longer than usual to find it in the store, having gotten distracted by all the options at the Tesco Extra, and he doesn’t even like white wine.</p><p>“What’s this?” he asks, crossing his legs and pulling out the tissue paper.</p><p>“Open it and find out,” Nick snarks, coaxing Pigdog to finish following him through the fire but she backs away instead, her nose slowly disappearing. A second later, the fire starts to lose its green hue as she lets the connection close. “Ugh, she almost made it this time.”</p><p>“What’s this?” Harry repeats, pulling the object out from the gift bag. It’s a wrapped ball and Harry would think Nick was trying to convince him to take up sport if it was, well, anyone else but Nick. The wrapping is a bit bumpy and he starts to pull it open.</p><p>“No, leave it together.”</p><p>Harry stares at him. “I get yelled at if I don’t open it then I get yelled at when I do?”</p><p>“I’d say ‘yell’ is a strong word,” Nick says, pouring a second glass already. Harry frowns. Nick’s been having a rough time at the WWN with his co-anchor but he didn’t know it was ‘two glasses in the first three minutes’ bad. “Use it when you take a bath next time.”</p><p>“What does it do?”</p><p>“Turns into a dragon and drowns you.”</p><p>“Hmm, then I won’t have to finish my report on new sky zoning laws.”</p><p>“Sounds boring,” Nick agrees. Harry thinks he’s slowing down a bit already and he relaxes in his seat as Nick nurses the second glass a bit longer. “Can I watch your telly again?”</p><p>Harry hands him the remote control and lets him flip through the channels, watching as Nick’s eyes grow wider and a smile stretches his lips. Harry’s always confused by Nick’s constant fascination with Muggle electricity; out of all of Harry’s wizard friends, Nick has actually lived in Muggle London before.</p><p>“Mum sent an owl today,” Harry says conversationally, thinking an advert for soap is a safe time to talk but Nick shushes him and doesn’t glance his way until the actual programme is back on. “Mum sent an owl,” Harry repeats patiently.</p><p>“Ah, time for your birthday visit. Where do you think you’ll take them this year?”</p><p>Harry shrugs. “Thought about just doing dinner. Taking dad anywhere else has such risk. He’s like... still terrified of the Muggle world.”</p><p>“He works in Muggle Relations.”</p><p>“Yeah, but in the Manchester branch,” Harry says with a wave of his hand. “Doesn’t mean the same thing.”</p><p>“Oh, take them to that place you took me.” Nick’s eyes are following the scene on telly.</p><p>Harry barely resists rolling his eyes. People tell him he’s bad at communicating and he’s pretty sure it’s because he’s learned all of Nick’s poor habits. Nick hosts a show on WWN, he could be a bit more detailed in his personal communication. It would probably help clear up at least half of his fights with his co-worker, too, if Nick could just explain his feelings with a touch of specificity.</p><p>“Which one?”</p><p>“Oh,” Nick turns away from the screen. “Um, the one with the, like, Twenties theme.”</p><p>Harry frowns. “Is that appropriate?”</p><p>“S’not like they’re performing burlesque. Mum liked it.”</p><p>Harry acknowledges that with a nod but he knows he can’t take Nick’s suggestion. His family is so different from the Grimshaws it’s astonishing they’re such great friends. He’ll think of something before the relatives descend upon his little home next weekend.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It’s Friday and he’s not picked a destination yet, though he has ruled out a dozen ideas. He’s about to just make the dinner himself at home, keep the entire extended Styles-Twist clan away from Muggles, when he sees his not-obsession step onto the Tube a stop later than his own with a bag of something that smells delicious clutched in his hand. Harry’s stood with his back to the benches, the space extra crowded with tourists and visitors on the Friday before a fair-weather weekend, and the dark-haired Muggle gets a grip of the bar just ahead of him.</p><p>He smiles when he sees Harry looking. Normally Harry would hide his interest in a book or something but he’s not had fifteen years of experience trying to pull attractive people for him to get scared now.</p><p>“Smells amazing,” Harry says, the two of them close enough that he doesn’t have to raise his voice to be heard. “Like a Sunday roast.”</p><p>“Yeah?” the man asks, his smile growing. “That’s good to know, since I told mum I’d make a homemade meal for her first visit to the city and I couldn’t get the day off work. Thankfully, my favourite place has a takeout option so I’m in the clear.”</p><p>Harry snorts at that and bites the side of his tongue lightly. “Sounds like my opposite, actually. I’ve got my family coming in for my birthday tonight and I’ve no idea where to take them. Think I should just cook at home and save the hassle. I’m Harry, by the way.” He lets go of the bar and holds out a hand to shake.</p><p>“Zayn.”</p><p>Zayn’s hand is riddled with callouses and warm to the touch from holding onto his food, Harry presumes. He looks down and sees flecks of paint near Zayn’s nails. Zayn notices his glance and laughs, a higher sound than Harry would have expected. “Occupational hazard,” he says as excuse. Harry would love to hear him expand on it but the smell of his takeout is honestly almost more distracting than the gold in his eyes.</p><p>“So, where’s that from?” Harry asks, nodding to the bag. “It really smells amazing.”</p><p>“Telly’s? It’s near St. James’s Square.”</p><p>Harry tries to picture the area in his head. He thinks he’s maybe seen the signage before but he had no idea the little hole-in-the-wall could make something that smells <em>so damn distractingly good</em>. “You mind if I steal your place?” he teases with a grin. “I think mum will love it.”</p><p>“If we’re ever waiting for a table at the same time, will you let me go first?” Zayn asks.</p><p>“Unless we’re there together, yes.” <em>Smooth, Styles</em>.</p><p>Zayn laughs at that, a full, throaty sound that tells Harry he caught him off-guard but, clearly, not in a bad way. “Maybe, some day,” Zayn says in the space between them.</p><p>Harry lets the rocking of the Tube bring him a breath closer to Zayn before he rocks back, watching as Zayn’s eyes drop to Harry’s mouth and don’t turn away for a solid thirty seconds.</p><p>Considering Harry had been too scared to talk to him the week before, he’ll say he’s made some great strides.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“How did your family like Telly’s?” Zayn asks Monday morning when Harry steps onto the train and finds Zayn seated nearly alone. He’s wearing his dove grey button-up again, this time with smart charcoal grey trousers and shiny black shoes. His peacoat is back and Harry thinks he looks even better with his glasses on than he does with them off but he doesn’t think one conversation is enough of a relationship for Harry to say that.</p><p>Harry whistles, remembering the food, as he sits down next to Zayn though there are plenty of seats open. “My mum <em>loved</em> the food and dad was impressed so I’ll take it as a win. I definitely owe you for the recommendation.” Harry doesn’t know if one conversation is enough of a relationship to ask Zayn to dinner but he’s considering pushing his luck if this second conversation goes well. “Where are you off to today? You look smart.”</p><p>“I’m pitching some of my work, actually. This is my power shirt. I wear it every time I have a pitch meeting.”</p><p>“I’ve noticed,” Harry says quietly.</p><p>“What?” Zayn asks, looking up.</p><p>“Oh, um, I said I never asked: what do you do?”</p><p>“Erm, I’m an artist. Photography mostly but I’ve recently taken up painting. Trying to convince a few galleries in London to host my work.”</p><p>“That sounds amazing,” Harry says. He’s had some creative pursuits in his life but he’d known from a young age that he would be best suited for a government role and he had put aside some of his hobbies. He doesn’t know how he’d feel trying to convince strangers to like him or his art and he has a new perspective on the quiet, attractive man he’s ridden the subway with for months.</p><p>“What do you do, Harry?”</p><p><em>I’m the under-undersecretary to the Minister for Magic and my job mainly consists of doing all the paperwork the undersecretary doesn’t want to do but at least I’m not an assistant who has to magic up tea orders to every foreign dignitary the Minister hosts at almost no notice. Anymore.</em> He had become quite skilled at his beverage service in the six months he spent as the second assistant to the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation.</p><p>“I work for the government,” he says simply.</p><p>“Top secret, James Bond stuff?”</p><p>“Oh yeah,” Harry answers with a smile. “Exactly that.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Harry’s got a pounding headache the next few days, a migraine straight from Merlin, so he sends his boss an owl that he won’t be in and hides in the darkest corner of his flat that he can find, begging for death or something to relieve the pain.</p><p>The bright green sparks in his fireplace once the Floo Network opens are enough to make him want to throw up and he pulls his thick comforter over his face, protecting his eyes and suffering from the warmth of his exhales for a minute until Nick’s crossed in and the flames disperse.</p><p>“I told you, I’m sick,” Harry says, finally letting the blanket fall. The cool air of his plug-in fan hits his flushed face and he sighs in relief.</p><p>“I’ve brought something to help you,” Nick says.</p><p>For all that he’s a pain in the arse friend, he’s speaking in a low tone and his steps are quiet as he treds across the room. Harry’s made a dark oasis in the corner of his bedroom, pillows setup on the floor and his fan plugged in, blowing with all its might.</p><p>When his Eagle Owl Otis had flown into his room with Nick’s note tied to his leg, Harry had attempted to read the words through squinted eyes but had quickly given up and tapped the parchment with his wand. “Quietly,” he’d said, and a quiet, monotone voice had read Nick’s words.</p><p>
  <em>Stopped in for a visit, heard you’re unwell. Will be by later with something to help.</em>
</p><p>Harry had sighed and shifted in his corner. <em>Accio</em> had brought him a pen and he quickly wrote on the back <em>Am dying, no need, give mum my love. </em>He couldn’t manage tying the parchment again, had no idea where the string had gone, but Otis was a champ and he took the note in his mouth before flying off.</p><p>Now, Nick is knelt on the ground next to Harry with a small pill bottle in one hand and a thermos in the other. “Try this, it will make everything better. I took it once after a massive hangover and I was in the studio an hour later.”</p><p>“This isn’t a hangover,” Harry whispers pathetically, pushing his hair back from his face. “Those are self-inflicted. Yardley Platt did this to me.”</p><p>Nick makes a confused sound in his throat before asking, “the goblin murderer?”</p><p>“I don’t know, the Devil did it, then.”</p><p>He takes the thermos off of Nick, trying a sip and making a sound when the liquid is spicier than he thought. “This isn’t Pepper-Up,” he says with a cough.</p><p>“Because you don’t have a hangover,” Nick answers. “Take a pill now and another in the morning if you need. Say <em>Cephalargia Obstructus.</em>”</p><p>Harry does what he’s told and honestly feels a bit better by the third sip. “What is this?” he asks, finally able to open his eyes all the way. The scant light he wasn’t able to block doesn’t hurt his brain anymore.</p><p>“A friend of a friend suggested it,” Nick shrugs, settling onto his bottom and leaning against Harry’s bed. “If I’d known sooner, I would have come.”</p><p>Harry knows this. “I honestly just planned on, like, dying or something. Tried to sleep it off. Thought about asking for a home-visit from a Healer.”</p><p>Nick coos at him and Harry finds he doesn’t mind the pity so much. He shivers, a bit cold, and switches off his fan. “No, that was neat, keep it on,” Nick asks so Harry does with a smile, turning so he’s out of the wind. “When’s the last time you ate something?”</p><p>The thought of food isn’t as revolting as it was just an hour before and Harry is going to have to thank Nick’s friend’s friend for passing along this miracle cure. For all he knows, he might be ill again in twenty minutes but he feels such relief right now that he’ll pay that price if he has to.</p><p>His stomach pangs at the talk of something to eat and Nick hears it. “I’ve got some things in,” Harry says. “Would you?”</p><p>“I’m good for a couple sandwiches, I think. I’m no Oliver Jamie but I can handle that.”</p><p>“Jamie Oliver,” Harry corrects. “You’ve met him. You liked him.”</p><p>“Eh. S’not like he’s Beyonce or anything.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>That night, Harry tries Nick’s gift from the weekend before. “Just put it in the bath,” he reminds himself, magicking up a full, warm tub of water after Nick leaves. He tests the temp and finishes unwrapping his present. The sphere is bright green with soft blue hues swirling together and it is dry to the touch with a seam running along the middle. It crumbles a bit when he pokes at the seam and he wants to take it apart but Nick told him to throw it in the tub so… he throws it in the tub.</p><p>Instantly, the sphere sinks to the bottom and a cloud of green-looking dust swarms in its place. Harry’s shocked and he drops to a knee, his instinct telling him to reach into the water and fish it out but it’s too late. His fingers have barely broken the surface of the water when the sphere pops back up to the top, a clear indention in the once perfectly round exterior now. Bubbles are surfacing, blues and yellows combining to match the green of the exterior as it continues to spin and spin in the tub. The sphere is dissolving from all directions now, tiny little bubbles flowing away from it in the water as the entire tub turns a brilliant, jade green.</p><p>After another minute of rapt watching, Harry thinks the fizzing show is over. He stands and strips out of his clothes before sinking into the tub. He can feel where some of the sphere remains and he picks it up in his hands, marvelling at the way it feels like wet sand slowly melting against his skin. He relaxes against the edge of his tub and closes his eyes.</p><p>He’ll have to ask Nick what the gift was the next time they see each other but, for now, he just settles in and enjoys the absolute magic of it.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Thursday finds Harry back to work, having missed a Zayn sighting this morning. He’s not going through withdrawals or anything but he would have liked to see Zayn after a few days off. They’ve finally said a few words to each other, he can’t lose the little momentum he has.</p><p>His boss is the undersecretary to the Minister for Magic and has such bright red hair Harry is sure she’s a relation to the Weasleys, one of the oldest and largest families in Wizarding Britain. She doesn’t have any of the enthusiasm Arthur Weasley does when he comes to meet with the Minister; instead, she’s more like Percy Weasley from the sixth level with her low-energy, nose-to-the-grindstone work ethic. Harry thinks she could benefit from a little more fun in her life but what does he know about fun: his daily dose of joy was from seeing an attractive man on the subway and being too nervous to say anything.</p><p>“How’s your head, Styles?” Leslie asks, sorting through some paperwork on the corner of his desk. His office is the smallest one in the building, just enough room for him to scoot around to his seat, but it leads right into the Minister’s office with Leslie’s office on the other side.</p><p>“Remarkably better. Tried an off-market cure finally and it helped a lot.”</p><p>“Hmm,” she says, distracted with her search. Her expression finally changes as she pulls out a thick bundle of parchment. “Here it is.” She turns towards him again. “Off-market is risky but we’ve all done it. I was able to keep up with most of your daily items and I’ll send you an inter-office memo with anything that comes up but the Minister is in Uganda looking to expand the Triwizard Tournament so your day will probably be light.”</p><p>“So it’ll be a quad-wizard tournament?” Harry asks. She doesn’t crack a smile but he doesn’t blame her, it was a terrible joke. “Ah, yes, I’ll just do some of the backlog, then.” She nods and pats him on the arm before sweeping from the room, her dark purple robes flowing behind her.</p><p>Harry finishes his work quickly, the after-effects of his migraine relief giving him an energy boost. He reorganizes his desk a few times, wishing not for the first time that he could convince the department to embrace some Muggle gadgets like a computer or telephone. He knows the magic grids that help keep them hidden don’t allow for electricity but he’s convinced a few modern upgrades will make it worth it.</p><p>Eventually, it’s after five and he can pack up for the night. He changes out of his robes and packs them into a bag along with his wand. He pockets his mobile phone in case he needs it once he’s street level and he leaves his office behind.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Zayn’s stood on the platform when Harry gets to the underground, and he waves Harry over when they lock eyes. Zayn is usually on the Tube by the time Harry makes it on in the evenings but maybe he had business in the area. He <em>is</em> wearing his dove gray button-down again. “Was starting to wonder about you,” Zayn said when Harry got to his shoulder. Harry adjusts his bag strap over his chest.</p><p>“I was a bit poorly,” he says.</p><p>“I’m sorry to hear that. You’re feeling better now?”</p><p>“Much,” Harry agrees, “and I’m going to be feeling well all weekend, I think.”</p><p>“Oh, is that so?” Zayn asks with a grin.</p><p>“Especially tomorrow night. I’ll be feeling well and hungry tomorrow, say, seven-ish.”</p><p>“Oh my god, you think this is cute, don’t you?”</p><p>Harry blinks and smiles wide.</p><p>“You have to actually ask me out if that’s what you’re doing or you have to wait and see if I’ll ask you out – you can’t play a half-ask game. For someone who stared at me for six months on the Tube, you sure are bad at this.”</p><p>Harry takes the hand that’s on the strap of his bag and reaches out to mess with the lapel of Zayn’s coat. “For someone who did what now?” he asks though he knows he’s caught.</p><p>“You’re not subtle and I never minded.”</p><p>“I’d like to take you to dinner, then,” Harry says. “I think Telly’s sounds like a proper place for our first date. Since both of our mums already like it, I mean.”</p><p>Zayn snorts as their train pulls up. They step into the car together and take their seats next to each other when they see the whole row is empty.</p><p>“You haven’t answered me,” Harry reminds. “If you’re not interested-“</p><p>“You think we just happened to be on the same car every day?” Zayn interrupts, laughing. “I was watching you almost as much as you were watching me.”</p><p>Harry doubts that very much but he’s still waiting for an actual ‘yes’ so he lets the lie stay. “So, you’re free tomorrow?” he prompts.</p><p>“I’m free tomorrow,” Zayn confirms. “I’d like to have dinner with you, too.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Three or four dates later, depending if Harry or Zayn’s count is more accurate, Harry’s got his arms around Zayn’s waist in the middle of a packed dancefloor and Zayn’s lips are trailing lines up and down Harry’s throat. Neither of them are the club-scene type but a friend of a friend of Nick’s is performing and Harry had wanted to support him. He thinks it might be the migraine-from-hell-reliever friend of a friend but he couldn’t get to Nick before today to confirm. Either way, getting to paw at Zayn in public in a dark, crowded room is a chance of a lifetime so far and Harry would go to the worst show by the worst band to do it again.</p><p>He’s been able to hold out some form of control until today, has managed five days in a row of seeing Zayn on the Tube without mauling him instead of going to work, but it’s a Saturday night, a boy he’s very, <em>very</em> interested in is grinding against him, and he’s had just enough amount of alcohol to let go of some of his inhibitions.</p><p>Zayn’s laughing against his skin now, the sound almost snatched away by the band but Harry hears it and leans in, tilting his head down to find Zayn’s mouth for a kiss. They’re electric together, even cheek kisses between them making Harry’s skin tingle for hours, but having Zayn in his arms right now makes him feel lit up like a lightning storm. He hopes to whatever God is out there that Zayn can’t feel how hard he is in his trousers. <em>Like a feckin’ teenager.</em></p><p>“Wanna suck you off,” Zayn says into Harry’s ear, his arms wrapping around Harry’s waist and dashing Harry’s hopes.</p><p>“Sorry,” Harry says, trying to shift away and pretend like Zayn’s words don’t have him feeling closer to thirteen than thirty. “You’re so much.”</p><p>“S’that a bad thing?” Zayn asks, taking a half step back to see Harry’s face. “Too much?”</p><p>“Everything,” Harry says, stepping into space Zayn left. “I think you’re everything.”</p><p>“Come home with me,” Zayn says, tilting his head back. “Come back to mine.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Harry doesn’t remember entirely how they get to Zayn’s flat, thinks there was a late-night train still running or maybe they took a bus or they flew on unicorns, but he’s soon being pressed down against the soft, plushy duvet of Zayn’s bed. It smells like Zayn, like his spicy cologne and floral washing powder; it’s a toxic, addicting, potent mix that Harry thinks is ruined for him forever. Harry tugs Zayn down over him, their kisses slick and open from the start. Zayn’s teasing him, pulling away every few minutes just to make Harry reach for him and coax him back again.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“You’re everything to me, too,” Zayn says as they’re falling asleep. “Absolutely everything.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It isn’t a hangover that Harry wakes with the next morning but it’s something similar, this pounding sense of withdrawal in his brain. He thinks it’s from the high of being with Zayn, the noise of the club, and the dry mouth he’s currently experiencing. Checking that Zayn is passed out, noting the way he snores to tease him about it later, he carefully slides out of bed. Zayn’s messy and Harry dodges some clothing piles on his way out of the room in search of a glass of water.</p><p>There’s an owl sitting on Zayn’s kitchen windowsill and Harry balks. He recognizes Nick’s Barn Owl and scowls, taking the proferred letter quickly. He shoos the owl back gently but Laurie snaps at Harry’s fingers. He’s been told to wait for a response so Harry unrolls the parchment and reads it quickly. He <em>needs</em> to teach Nick how to text.</p><p>Trying to manage his irritation, Harry turns the parchment over and rifles around Zayn’s kitchen drawers until he finds a pen. He scribbles that he’s busy tonight and will come by another time. He ties it back to Laurie’s leg and apologises for the lack of treats in Zayn’s home before sending him on his way. He sets the pen back into its place and finds a glass in a cupboard just as Zayn comes around the corner.</p><p>Harry’s infinitely grateful he hadn’t yet taken a sip when he sees all the skin on display, only a pair of small pants obstructing Harry’s view. Zayn’s eyes are half-closed and he’s scratching absently under his navel as he yawns. Harry clears his throat and Zayn stops short in the arch of the doorframe. “Oh, hi,” he says, his eyes opening. One of his hands goes behind his back, probably scratching an itch there as well, and Harry feels like he needs to sit down.</p><p>“Sorry, I was… thirsty,” he says, thrusting out the glass in his hand. His dry mouth is suddenly salivating and he smiles. “You’re beautiful.”</p><p>Zayn laughs and lets his arms fall to his side. “S’okay,” he says. “I just thought you’d left, no big deal.”</p><p>“Oh,” Harry says, deflating a bit. “I mean, I can go. I’ll be out of your hair in a second.”</p><p>“No, shit,” Zayn says quickly, walking further into the room. “That came out wrong, I’m never great before noon.”</p><p>“It’s ten after one,” Harry corrects gently, feeling relief.</p><p>“Eh, it’s the same thing.” Zayn just waves his hand in the air, smiling softly but genuinely.</p><p>“I could make us some breakfast. Or, erm, some bunch?”</p><p>“Oh, hmm.” Zayn leans his hip against the counter and scratches his back again. “Will you hand me that cup behind you?”</p><p>Harry turns and sees the red cup, setting his own glass down and taking a step away. When he turns back around, Zayn’s grabbing a couple bowls out of a cupboard.</p><p>“Thanks,” Zayn says, turning to the sink and filling the glass with water. He steps to the side for Harry to follow suit and they drink in silence for a second. “So, you mentioned food?” Zayn says after a minute. “What are you good at?”</p><p>“I make really good Szechuan chicken.”</p><p>Zayn coughs on his last sip of water and Harry laughs. “You do?”</p><p>“What? I’ll have you know I have many talents as well as all this beauty,” he gestures to himself.</p><p>“I’m going to need some coffee if I’m going to keep up with you this early. You want some?”</p><p>Harry nods and watches Zayn turn to the coffee machine in the corner. He messes with it for a second and Harry fills his cup halfway, looking out the kitchen window long enough to see another owl approaching. He sighs at Nick’s relentlessness, thinks he may be at Harry’s house wondering where he is, and he shakes his head and makes a shooing gesture before the owl can get too close.</p><p>Clearly confused, the owl lands on a thin branch just outside the window. He hoots but Harry can’t hear it over the sound of the coffee machine. Glancing over his shoulder, he confirms Zayn is still preoccupied and he makes another shooing motion. The owl gives him a look of scorn but complies, taking off and carrying away the message with it.</p><p>He’s just set his empty glass into the sink when he turns around and finds Zayn looking at him. “What?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Zayn assures him with a smile. “You’re just… not who I expected the first time I saw you. You didn’t fuck and run.”</p><p>“I mean, I have before,” Harry answers honestly. “It’s always felt mutually desired, I’ve never led anyone on but I’m also not, like, wholesome or anything.”</p><p>Harry can see the red flush in Zayn’s skin. “Yeah, I, erm, gathered that,” Zayn says.</p><p>Harry watches the way the hollow of Zayn’s throat gets darker and darker and he crosses the room in two strides, leaning down slowly to feel the heat of his skin against first his nose then his lips. Zayn sighs, letting his head tip back to give Harry more room as his hand comes up to fist in Harry’s short curls, keeping pressure on Harry’s head to keep his mouth where it is.</p><p>It doesn’t take more than a minute before Zayn’s pushing Harry back so he can hop up onto the counter and pull Harry back in. “You’re like a drug,” Zayn says against Harry’s mouth. “Last night was enough to get me hooked.”</p><p>Their kisses this morning are different than the ones they’d shared last night, slower and sweeter like there’s no need to dive in deep and they’re just revisiting familiar territory.</p><p>They don’t move it any further, the coffee pot soon beeping its completion. Zayn pulls back at the sound and Harry pouts. “Can’t believe I’m being thrown over for coffee.”</p><p>Zayn scoffs and twists at the waist to grab down two mugs from a cupboard near his shoulder. “If you grab the milk from the fridge then I won’t have to move at all.” Zayn scoots to the side and grabs the bowl of sugar. Harry smiles and obliges, like he’d ever say no anyway, and grabs the carton of milk.</p><p>“I’m guessing you’re the pretentious type who likes their coffee black,” Zayn says, laughing at Harry when he pulls a face. “Okay, how do you like your coffee?”</p><p>“I like my coffee to taste like tea,” Harry grins, pressing back into Zayn’s space and taking the one sugar, one splash of milk mug that Zayn passes over. He takes a few sips, burning his tongue but craving the caffeine. Zayn drinks his greedily and pours a second mug, though he sets it down near his hip and doesn’t drink it right away. He tastes like coffee when Harry leans in for a kiss and he changes his mind: he likes his coffee to taste like Zayn.</p><p>“My Szechuan chicken is almost as good as I am in bed.” Harry sets his mug down.</p><p>Zayn snorts and nearly bites on Harry’s tongue before he pulls away to laugh. He smacks Harry on the shoulder. “You’re so dumb, you’re the least funny person I know.”</p><p>Harry laughs, recognizes the lie for what it is.</p><p>“You know, I never did get a chance to suck you last night,” Zayn says, shifting the mood of the room again. Harry groans and brings his hands up to cup Zayn’s chin, keep him in place for this kiss. Only Zayn’s hands against his chest get him to pull away eventually and Zayn takes the opportunity to sink to the floor.</p><p>“Tile’s not very comfortable,” Harry tries to protest.</p><p>“Why, are you going to last that long?” Zayn asks, giggling when he cups Harry through his pants.</p><p>Harry shakes his head; he’s got no chance of outlasting Zayn, is only hoping he doesn’t embarrass himself.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“The problem is pretty clear, I think,” Harry says later that night when he’s crawled home from Zayn’s in a near-sex coma and Nick’s stepped through the Floo Network to get green soot on Harry’s white carpet even though he’d begged off from a visit earlier. Pig’s come through as well this time and Harry spoils her on the couch while he tells Nick all about Zayn.</p><p>“Your stamina,” Nick nods, his drink mostly untouched. Harry knows his issues at work are clearing up and he’s happy Nick’s feeling at peace. He think he might see a lovebite on Nick’s neck, also, but he’ll let Nick tell him at his own pace.</p><p>“My st- <em>no</em>, you prick. I have to tell him I’m a wizard.”</p><p>“Not today,” Nick argues.</p><p>Harry sighs and sets down his glass of water. “Eventually, I’ll have to tell him I have magic and then he’s going to run. And, if he runs, then someone from Muggle Relations is going to have to wipe my confession from his memory. And then they’ll probably wipe most of me, too, just to be safe.”</p><p>“Maybe not,” Nick tries.</p><p>“You’re right,” Harry agrees. “Maybe he’ll think I’m <em>certifiable</em> when I tell him and he’ll just avoid me forever.”</p><p>“Or maybe you two will be like all the other mixed-magic couples we’ve met or heard of and he’ll believe you because you’re telling the truth and people know when they hear honesty.”</p><p>Harry hopes so.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Dinner dates turn into morning-after dates; Harry convinces Zayn to wake up early one Sunday morning and go with him to the farmer’s market, picking out the fruit and veg he uses to make their lunch and dinner that day. Zayn only complains a little about the time and falls asleep on the couch with his head on Harry’s shoulder. Harry watches the Netflix ‘Are you still watching?’ menu for thirty minutes because he doesn’t want to disturb Zayn’s nap.</p><p>It doesn’t bother Harry that Zayn’s flat always looks like Hurricane Malik has just passed through. He’d initially thought Zayn was messy but he’s quickly learning that Zayn’s just <em>untidy</em> – there are no dirty dishes out of place and all laundry is stored in hampers, but clean dishes get left on the worktop to be put away later and piles of folded clothes decorate every surface in Zayn’s room like he’ll get around to sorting through them some other time. He’s good at keeping his art supplies in his workshop downtown, had confided in Harry that having them at home would make him anxious about missing opportunities to make something, but his expensive camera is always out of its case and in a prime spot to trip Harry up when he gets up in the mornings.</p><p>Zayn’s private about his art but Harry finds his name on the internet and surprises him at one of the galleries hosting his pieces. Zayn looks shocked but the smile that stretches his lips is so, so pleased and he doesn’t let go of Harry’s arm for the entire night. Harry buys a piece and hangs it behind his sofa.</p><p>They see movies together, Harry growing bored during a superhero flick and pouting when he can’t distract Zayn. He eats the popcorn Zayn put aside and gets a kernel stuck in his teeth that bothers his gums for the rest of the night no matter how vigorously he attempts to floss. He can’t sneak away from Zayn long enough to try and magic it out and his wandless skills have never been strong so he deals with it until he’s in his flat the next day, magicking it out quickly and feeling both relief at its absence and fear that his magic is going to make Zayn think of him differently when the most he usually uses it for is to soothe mild aches, pains, and annoyances.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Cut to: six months they’ve been dating.</p><p>Harry’s met Zayn’s friends and Zayn has met Nick. He loves Pigdog almost as much as Harry does. Harry wants to bring Zayn home to meet his family but first he needs to find a way to tell him the truth. They’re talking in circles about long-term plans, Zayn’s joked about moving Harry’s things into his place, but it will never happen if Harry isn’t honest.</p><p>“Zayn, I have to tell you something,” he practices in the mirror. He’s taking Zayn to Telly’s for their six-month ‘anniversary of sorts’ dinner and he’s determined to tell the truth tonight.</p><p>“Zayn, we need to talk.”</p><p>“Zayn, I haven’t lied to you but I haven’t told you the truth.”</p><p>“I love you and I want to tell you everything.”</p><p>Every option he has sounds so stupid. He decides to just improvise at the dinner though he doesn’t stop practicing the rest of the evening, even muttering to himself on the Tube as he rides a few stop down to pick up Zayn from his work studio. Normally Zayn’s downstairs waiting for Harry but he’s nowhere to be seen. Harry waits a few minutes near the entrance before heading inside.</p><p>He doesn’t see anyone in the ground floor rooms so he climbs the stairs to the first floor and takes a look around. Paintings like the one he bought from Zayn are stacked against the walls but there’s no sign of Zayn around.</p><p>“Babe?” Harry calls out as he climbs the stairs to the top floor. “Z?”</p><p>He feels a little like he’s intruding when he realises Zayn’s photography is on this level.</p><p>The front door had been unlocked so he had thought Zayn was here but now Harry’s wondering if they’d gotten their wires crossed and they were supposed to meet somewhere else. “Zayn, are you here?”</p><p>“Harry?”</p><p>Relief floods Harry’s chest. “Yeah, hey. I was waiting outside for a bit so I thought I’d just come in.”</p><p>“Harry, you should leave,“ Zayn says, his voice getting closer as Harry turns the corner to find framed photographs along the walls of the hallway.</p><p>“You’re so talented,” Harry says, eyeing a few black and white photos in a row before the next photograph over catches his eye.</p><p>“Harry, don’t-“ Zayn starts, turning into the hallway from the other end and holding up a hand. Harry doesn’t pay him much attention for once, distracted by the way Zayn’s art seems to move and shift. Wait…</p><p>“That’s me,” Harry says, stepping closer. The photo of him smiles back brightly. Harry feels a little lightheaded when the Harry in the photo gives him a little wave. He waves back on instinct; it looks like he’s viewing himself through a time-delay mirror.</p><p>“H.”</p><p>Harry looks to the next photo, watching a bright blue bird in a bright green tree take flight and sweep out of the frame. The photo after that is a moving train, the grass on the near side of it blowing in the unseen breeze. The photo one over is one of Zayn’s sisters running her fingers through her hair. It takes Harry a minute to realise it’s Waliyha, doesn’t see her face until she smooths her hair back.</p><p>“I can explain,” Zayn says when Harry finally tears his gaze from the photos to look at him. He thinks there must be panic in his eyes and he can see the same feeling clearly in Zayn’s expression.</p><p>“Okay,” Harry says, waiting. There’s no way…</p><p>“I’m, well… I… have magic. Not like, magician magic but like. Witch magic. It’s in me. It’s who I am and who I’ve been for my whole like. I’m the same person I was yesterday, I’m just me. And I hope you can be okay with that because I… Well, I don’t want to lose you.”</p><p>He’s speaking quickly and Harry wants to speak up, to interrupt, but he’s frozen.</p><p>“If this is too much, there’s someone I can call to help. They’ll wipe your memory, though, and I think you should have a choice. If that’s what you want, we can do that.”</p><p>“Zayn…” Harry says, his words finally coming to him. “Zayn, stop.”</p><p>“I’m not lying,” Zayn says. He takes a step closer to Harry.</p><p>“I know you’re not.”</p><p>“And I’m not crazy or playing make-believe or anything.”</p><p>“I know that, too.”</p><p>“Okay,” Zayn says, taking a breath. “How do you feel?”</p><p>Harry takes a deep breath of his own and reaches into the extra pocket sewn into the thigh of his trousers. He pulls out his wand and lights one of the candles on the wall near his photograph.</p><p>Zayn’s mouth snaps shut. “Oh.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Harry agrees.</p><p>“That’s one scenario I didn’t exactly plan for.”</p><p>“Hogwarts,” Harry says, pointing at his chest.</p><p>“Kalale,” Zayn responds.</p><p>“This is wild.”</p><p>Zayn’s shock wears off and his face splits into one of his beautiful smiles. They both begin taking steps towards each other and Harry pulls Zayn into his chest as soon as his arms can reach him. The kiss feels different than their other ones, like all of Harry’s anxiety has completely melted away.</p><p>“My parents are dying to meet you,” he says once he pulls away.</p><p>Zayn laughs. “Oh, I was just thinking the same thing. I’ve wanted to tell you so many stories about my dad that I couldn’t because they all involve him dabbling in new spells.”</p><p>“My dad’s wary of Muggles so I didn’t know how I would best introduce you two.”</p><p>“Don’t have to worry about that,” Zayn says, kissing Harry’s chin quickly.</p><p>“I just can’t believe this,” Harry says, a giggle rising in his chest. “I’ve been so worried for so long about how I would ever approach this situation and then I met you…”</p><p>“I thought you saw the owls every time you came over my place!” Zayn admits. “The family is always sending owls around, I usually have a few making temporary homes in the back garden just to have a bit of a rest.”</p><p>“I got an owl at your house a couple times,” Harry admits. “They must have sensed a magic source and linked me to it, I have no idea how they’re so intuitive. Could you imagine if I’d accidentally opened a message for you?”</p><p>“Probably could have saved some time,” Zayn says. He pulls back a bit, still grinning. “I’m going to grab my jacket and we can actually go to dinner.”</p><p>Harry lets him go reluctantly, turning back to the photograph of him. He’s still in-frame, a wider smile on his face than Harry’s ever seen before and he touches at his cheeks, feeling an identical smile on his lips.</p><p>“Ready to go?” Zayn asks when he comes back into the hall. His jacket is folded over his arm, the August night warmer than usual. “We’ll be late for our reservations.”</p><p>“They know it’s us,” Harry says, letting Zayn sling an arm across Harry’s back as they take the stairs together. “They’ll hold our table.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Besides the headache remedy incantation, all spells mentioned are found in JK Rowling's books or elsewhere in the Official Universe created with her copyright characters. Copyright material also includes Floo Powder, among other items.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>